


The Goodest Love of All

by AnxietyGrrl



Category: GLOW (TV 2017)
Genre: Female Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 17:44:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15296724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnxietyGrrl/pseuds/AnxietyGrrl
Summary: When it's all over, or maybe it's not (maybe it's a new thing now?). Debbie and Ruth have a little girl talk.





	The Goodest Love of All

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in a place where I don't _really_ ship Ruth/Sam, but also I _really do_ ship it, and I feel real weird about it?

Ruth sank to the curb and asked, more puzzled than petulant, “Why is he being such an asshole?”

Debbie spread her arms, palms up, as if displaying a microwave on _Sale of the Century._  “Because he’s an asshole.” Ruth was still staring down the road with that dumb crinkle in her face. Debbie folded herself awkwardly to sit next to her, and lit a cigarette. “God. It’s because he’s not going to see you anymore, and he’s sulking about it.”

Ruth made a little ‘pfft’ sound and said, “That’s stupid. We’ll see each other.”

“No you won’t. None of us will.” She paused for a second to watch her words press that dumb crinkle smooth. “This isn’t actually a family, Ruth.”

“I know that.” She crossed her arms. “We’ll see each other, though...right? You and me?”

Debbie exhaled smoke to her left and ashed into the gutter. “Sure, maybe. And a few of the girls might keep in touch. But him,” she waved her hand, “he knows. It’s over.”

“That doesn’t even make sense. The industry’s like a small town. You… you run into people.”

“The same woman played my sweet little old grandmother for 300 episodes. I didn’t even go to her funeral.”

“Jesus.”

Debbie shrugged. “That’s the job.”

“God, don’t say ‘It’s not show friends…’” Ruth grabbed her cigarette and took a drag.

“Here’s what happens: the show ends. Everybody hugs and turns off the lights. Lou Grant goes off to do whatever the schlock horror version of being a newspaper editor is, and Mary Tyler Moore gets to make _Ordinary People_.”

Ruth quietly took that in, and then she mumbled, “Richards.”

“What?”

“Her name was Mary Richards on the show.” She sat up straighter. “You’re conflating Mary the actress and Mary the character, and it’s ruining what I have to say is your very somewhat off-base analogy.” Ruth punctuated her little lecture by poking the air, and Debbie snatched back her cig. “I know you think he’s a jerk--”

“Jerk is a _very_ kind word for that prick.”

“So maybe you think he’d be resentful of my success or something. But we got past all that. We did. We’re friends.”

“No, I think Sam would be pretty proud of your theoretical future successes.” Debbie leaned her head on her hand and considered the faint lines at the corners of Ruth’s lightly bloodshot Bambi eyes. _That stupid prick_ , she thought.

“You know how he knows he’s not going to see you anymore, Ruth? Because he’s going to make sure he doesn’t.”

“What?” _Vaaat?_  it almost came out, like Zoya. “That’s-- _pfft._ Why?”

“ _'_ _Whyyy?’_ ” Debbie mimicked. “Come on.”

“You come on!”

Debbie stood up, wiped the street off her ass, and stamped out her butt. “Please, do _not_ mistake me here, I’m not saying he’s being noble. I’m saying he’s chickenshit. Because everybody knows--”

Ruth was looking up at her from the curb, waiting to hear what everybody knew. Debbie reached out and pulled her to her feet. She made her voice a little gentler. “Everybody knew that Mr. Grant was in love with Mary Tyler Moore--”

“Richards.”

“--but no one was rooting for them to fuck.”

Ruth stood there. And stood there. And then, “ _Pfft._ ”

“Okay.” Debbie started walking toward the car.

“First of all.” Ruth followed her. “First of all, that’s your _interpretation_.”

“Okay.”

“Second, just _statistically_ it couldn’t have been _no one_.”

“Wow, okay.”

“I’m just saying!”

“Are you?”

They got in the car and Debbie cranked down the window. She lit another cigarette and turned the ignition. “You’re off base,” said Ruth again.

“Okay.”

It was late enough that traffic was light, at least on surface streets, and Debbie glanced to her right occasionally to see Ruth squirming, or frowning out at the city, or, once, holding her hand to her face, like she was remembering a secret joke.

Debbie turned onto the freeway. Ruth muttered something. “What was that?”

“Fuck,” Ruth repeated. She let out a laugh like a popped bubble. “Jesus Christ.”

“Oh yeah.”

“ _Shit._ ”

“Mmhmm.”

“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Okay.”

Debbie put _Whitney Houston_ (side B) in the tape deck. Ruth started bopping in her seat as the verse started. “ _How will I knoooow?_ ” Debbie crooned at her.

“Gross,” she snickered.

“Sure.”

They belted along with Whitney, emoting the shit out of it, until their voices gave out and they got back home.

**Author's Note:**

> (It's MARON. I can't ship _Maron!_ I can have a crush on him from the mid 1990s through circa his second divorce, but I can't _ship_ him, that's _weird._ Sigh, it gets complicated in here, you guys.)


End file.
